


Don't Get it Twisted

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: And I can't help writing it into my stories, Bridget to the rescue, F/M, Fluff, Mark has a filthy mouth, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, Winter, Winter Mishap, winter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9242870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: After what the news is deeming "The Blizzard of the Century", Mark is still bent & determined to get into work. What starts out as some innocent shoveling turns out to be one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr prompt: "“Please put me down it’s just a sprained ankle" for Mark x Bridget only, PLOT TWIST: Mark says this. :'D" Had a lot of fun writing this, so hopefully you enjoy! Somewhere in the 10 years after EOR :)

January hit London with all of its wintry force. By the third, snow was coming down in thick droves, covering the sidewalks and hanging heavy on tree limbs. “Blizzard of the Century” was what the newscasters were calling it, and honestly, it really looked that way. Piles of snow covered every stoop on Mark and Bridget’s street, and drifts of fluffy, white dreams sparkled on street corners. It was so heavy and so deep that the snow didn’t even have time to get the dinghy, dirty look that snow gets in the city--people weren’t leaving their houses for anything, so the snow lay on the ground in a pristine, thick blanket. 

This, of course, didn’t really stop Mark Darcy from trying to get into work. Bridget watched him in the entryway, chewing on her nail with worry as he wrapped a thick, wool scarf around his neck.

“Mark, do you really think the courts are going to be functioning today? They’ve called a bloody state of emergency, for crying out loud. The world isn’t going to fall apart if you don’t go into work.”

Mark shot her a glance as he pulled on his heavy wool overcoat. “Bridget, just because it snowed doesn’t mean my responsibilities melt away. I have to go in. We’re working on an incredibly important case, and I don’t want to get behind on it.” He was now pulling on a pair of high snow boots, taking care to tuck his trousers into the tops of them to avoid getting the cuffs wet. “Besides, all I need to do is clear off the stoop and dig out my car. Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes.” 

Bridget watched him as he now pulled on his leather gloves, flexing his long fingers once they were inside. “Fine. Be hard-headed. Just know that I  _ refuse _ to help you, because I think you’re being an arse.” At that, she turned on her heel and retreated into the kitchen. Mark watched her walk away from him, shaking his head in amusement at the way she was holding herself with righteous defiance. 

He opened the front door and was blasted in the face with a cold, snowy gust of wind. He squinted into the light, watching the wind pick up the flakes of snow from neighboring surfaces and throw them into the air, creating swirling patterns of glitter in the clear blue sky. The sigh that escaped his lips couldn’t be helped--it really  _ was _ bloody cold, and the last thing he wanted to be doing was clearing off the snow from his stoop. In all honestly, he’d much rather be snuggled up with Bridget on the couch, cups of spiked cocoa in hand and watching a movie that Bridget insist they watch on Netflix.

Grabbing the shovel from by the front door, Mark stepped out into the winter wonderland. He grimaced at the cold wind that cut through his trousers.  _ Maybe wearing my suit underneath my overcoat to do this wasn’t such a smart idea, _ he mused as he crunched into the snow. The drifts were high, but not high enough to dump into his boots, so he reserved himself to the fact that he’d just have to grit his teeth and get it done. He started to dig into the snow on the top step, throwing shovelfuls of it over his shoulder. It was much heavier than he anticipated, but he was secretly thankful for the fact that he didn’t have a driveway like someone in the country might have. All he had were his four steps and the space around his BMW.

The top part of their stoop took him almost ten minutes, which surprised him greatly. The weight of the snow made the job much harder than he anticipated, and there was a slick, hidden layer of ice underneath the snow that he wasn’t really planning on. He took great caution, moving only millimeters with each step to avoid slipping. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath as he took the stair railing in his hand to make his way down to the next step. 

Across the street stood a few of the neighborhood kids, sleds in hand but taking it upon themselves to watch him intently instead of finding somewhere to sled. He gingerly raised a hand in their direction while the other held onto the railing for dear life, and the largest of the children returned his greeting. Mark nodded in their direction, and then busied himself with clearing off the next step. Shovelful after shovelful was flung over his shoulder as he secretly cursed the fact that he didn’t have enough sense to buy sidewalk salt.

By the time he had reached the bottom step, a total of twenty minutes had passed and Mark was truly wondering if it was even worth going into work. He cleared off the bottom step, panting slightly at the exertion he was putting out to simply get the stoop clean. He leaned on the handle of the shovel, his breath coming out in labored puffs as he rolled his head back to look at the sky. It was bright blue, not a cloud to be found. No one would have ever assumed that a blizzard had blown through just 24 hours ago. 

Glancing at his car, Mark closed his eyes in a frown.  _ Just do it, Darcy. Get it over with. _ He took a deep breath, and started to carve a path to his car from the stoop. More snow flung over his shoulder as he labored against the drifts that stood in front of him. The kids across the street had now started throwing snowballs at each other, their sleds discarded on the sidewalk. Mark could hear them laughing and shouting at each other, clearly taking glee in the fact that school was canceled and the neighborhood was literally their playground. He looked up at them, allowing himself a break from the work at hand. Three or four of the kids were winging snowballs at each other while another stood off to the side, videotaping the whole thing on his cellphone. Mark chuckled under his breath and continued to remove the snow from the sidewalk, gingerly walking across the sheet of ice underneath.

Scoop, scoop, scoop.

Heave, heave, heave.

Suddenly, Mark heard a shout.

“Hey mister, watch out!” 

Mark glanced up, just in time to be hit full in the face with a snowball. “Bloody hell!” he shouted, trying to catch his balance as his legs started to slip and slide underneath him. Everything felt like it was in slow motion and too quick at the same time. The shovel fell to his side with a clatter as his arms flailed at his sides, grasping at air to try and brace him against the slick sheet of ice he was standing on. 

Sadly, it was no use.

Mark felt a sharp pain in his ankle as his leg slipped out from underneath him, and the next thing he knew, he was crashing to the ground with a loud crack as the ice beneath him split. The air was knocked out of him as he landed spread eagle on the sidewalk. Stars exploded behind his eyelids as his head made contact with the sidewalk, and he could feel the coldness from the snow seeping through the fabric of his trousers. He slowly opened his eyes to find five small faces staring down at him with looks of absolute panic on their expressions.

“Oh my god mister, I’m so sorry,” the tallest one said. 

“Are you OK?” a young girl asked, leaning down to get a better look at his face.

“Andrew, stop filming!” he heard another one hiss. 

Mark’s ankle was throbbing, and his bottom was sore beyond belief. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself, desperately trying to get himself into a sitting position. All five of the kids took a step back, giving him space to orient himself. Mark carded a hand through the back of his hair, making sure he didn’t crack his skull when he fell. Luckily there wasn’t any wetness other than the cold moisture from the snow. He looked to the tallest boy and said, “Would you mind giving me a hand up?”

Quickly, the boy scrambled forward to offer his hand to Mark. Mark graciously took it, gripping it with the strength that he would have used with an adult. He saw the young boy’s eyebrows fly up in surprise as he brought another mittened hand around to cup Mark’s. The boy started to yank him up, but it was to no avail. Between the throbbing pain in his ankle and the slipperiness beneath him, Mark didn’t want to risk another fall. He sat back down heavily with a disgruntled output of breath. 

“Would you mind getting my fiance for me?” Mark asked the boy, looking up at him through squinted eyes.

The boy eagerly nodded and said, “Not at all. Where is she?”

Mark gestured toward their stoop and said, “She should be inside. Just knock on the door.”

Mark watched the boy hurry over to the stoop as the other four kids continued to gawk at him from a safe distance. The boy knocked on the front door, and after a beat Mark heard it open. 

“Oh, hello. How can I help you?” Mark heard Bridget’s voice speaking to the boy.

“Well, um, my friends and I were having a snowball fight, and, um, well, Ben threw a pretty nasty snowball across the street…”

“Oy!” said one of the other kids still standing by Mark. “‘S not my fault!”

“Anyway, the snowball came across the street and kind of, well, hit your husband in the face…”

Mark now heard Bridget audibly gasp, and he could only imagine the look on her face. He didn’t want to risk twisting his body towards her for fear of hurting himself further, so he continued to sit on the sidewalk in absolute embarrassment. 

“Mark? You mean my fiance? Where is he? Is he OK?”

The boy must have silently gestured towards Mark, because the next thing Mark heard was Bridget shrilly saying, “ _ Oh, Mark!” _ before he could hear the crunching of the snow behind him.

“Bridget,” he said sternly. “Please be careful of the ice. That’s how I got into this predicament in the first place.”

The footsteps behind him slowed down significantly, but continued to approach him. Suddenly, Bridget was standing in front of him, the snow and ice soaking through her sheepskin slippers and soaking the cuff of her trackie bottoms. “Mark, are you alright?” she huffed, pulling her cardigan closer around her body as she looked down at him.

“I think I twisted my ankle,” he said sheepishly. “Can’t get up because of the ice...I tried to get these fellows to help, but it’s no use. I need an adult.” He finally raised his chin to look up at her. Her face was twisted with concern, but he could also see the tiniest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. 

“Right. Well. Let’s try this,” Bridget answered, taking a few steps until she was behind him. He felt her hands slide underneath his armpits, and immediately his face flushed from embarrassment.

“Bridget, no,” he said sternly as he helplessly hung from her grip. “I’m far too heavy for you.”

He could feel Bridget’s breath on his ear as she leaned forward, and he heard her say, “Ben, isn’t it?” One of the boys perked up and said, “Yeah, that’s me.” Mark felt Bridget gesture towards him with her head as she said, “Grab his feet, will you? Be careful of his ankle. We need to get him upright but off the ice.”

Mark’s eyes widened with disbelieving mortification as the young boy sprung forward and stepped between Mark’s splayed legs to grab him by the calves. “There’s a good boy,” Bridget crooned, tightening her grip on his chest. “Ready now? On the count of three. One...two...three!” Suddenly, Mark felt himself being completely lifted off the ice, and he couldn’t help but be slightly impressed by the strength Bridget and Ben exhibited. His surprise, however, did  _ not _ deter his embarrassment.

“For God’s sake, Bridget. Please put me down. It’s just a sprained ankle,” he said. His head was precariously pushed forward into the scarf he was wearing, so the words came out muffled. Whether Bridget heard him or not was moot--she was either choosing to ignore him or too absorbed in the task to hear him. His body was swaying between Bridget and the boy, his ankle throbbing mercilessly as they sidestepped him from the ice and into a drift of snow.

“Apologies in advance for this,” Bridget huffed above him. The next thing Mark knew, he was being lowered into the snow drift. His whole body was encompassed in snow, and he couldn’t help the yelp of, “Fuck!” that escaped his lips. He could see a few of the kids on the sidewalk gasp at the outburst, but he didn’t care. His ankle fucking hurt, and to make matters worse he was now practically shoulder-deep, sitting in the snow. 

“Bridget, please. I’m freezing. Get me the fuck out of here,” he muttered.

Bridget shuffled to his side and lowered herself to offer him her hand. He gratefully took it in his, and she offered her other hand. He took that one as well, and together they hoisted him up out of the snow. The lack of ice made the process much easier than his first attempt, and he gently placed his injured foot down on the ground. The pain shot through his ankle and he yelped out in pain. 

“Stop being so hard headed, please,” Bridget said, taking his arm and putting it around her shoulders. “Let me help you inside. Lean on me and don’t put any weight on that ankle.”

Exhausted from shoveling and from the fall, Mark finally allowed himself to lean against Bridget and be helped into the house. He felt her look behind her as she said, “No hard feelings, boys! Thanks for your help!” Mark heard a chorus of, “You’re welcome,” before they stomped off down the sidewalk to continue their snowball fight. Bridget tightened her grip around his waist as she helped him hobble up the stoop.

“Are you alright?” she now murmured, turning her face to him.

Mark braced himself on the bannister of the stoop and gasped as he accidentally lowered his foot. “It bloody hurts,” he responded through gritted teeth. 

“Alright, alright, we’re almost there. Just take your time.”

 

* * *

 

Mark didn’t end up going to work. Instead, Bridget and the nasty purple bruising on his ankle convinced him to stay home. Once inside, they had both changed out of their wet clothes, leaving them in a heap on their bedroom floor. Bridget had insisted he sit on the bed in his boxer briefs while she gingerly wrapped his ankle with some gauze she found in the medicine cabinet, and Mark had begrudgingly agreed. 

“It’s just a bloody sprain,” he muttered, arms crossed across his chest in disdain. 

“Please shut up,” she said under her breath as she inspected his ankle that now sat in her lap. “You twisted it, Mark. You said yourself it hurts, so just shut up and let me wrap it.”

Mark felt the tension in his shoulders loosen as he realized what a pain he was being. His expression softened and he uncrossed his arms as he looked down at Bridget gently cradling his foot in her hands. “Sorry,” he murmured. Bridget looked up at him, her eyes soft and a sympathetic smile on her lips. 

“You’re fine,” she replied, taking the gauze from the roll. Gently, she started to wrap it around the length of Mark’s foot, all the way up to above his ankle. He hissed a few times when she had to maneuver the foot to better accommodate the gauze, but for all intent and purpose, she was incredibly deft at the task at hand. 

“Where did you learn how to wrap a sprained ankle?” he said with some amusement in his voice. 

“Mark, you know what an absolute daft cow I can be. I’m not ashamed to say that this isn’t the first sprained ankle I’ve wrapped. Ironically, it’s the first sprained ankle I’ve wrapped that isn’t my own.”

Mark laughed at this. “You’re not a daft cow, darling.”

“Fine, but I’m an absolute spaz.”

Mark let out a hum in agreement, which caused Bridget to smirk up at him. He smiled at her, his heart full of love for this incredible woman. Bridget tucked the gauze into the wrapping and then placed a few pieces of medical tape where she had tucked the end in. She gently patted the sides of his foot and said, “There we go. All better now.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, pushing himself up off of the bed. Gingerly, he placed his foot down and was surprised at how much less it hurt now that it was stable. Sure, it still throbbed a little, but he could at least hobble around now that it was wrapped.

Bridget approached him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She placed a few kisses along the bare skin of his chest before going up on her tiptoes to place her lips against his. Mark pulled her in closer to him, feeling the warmth radiating off of her, and he smiled.

“Think you can manage getting dressed on your own?” she murmured.

Mark placed a kiss against her hair, running a thumb under her sweater to trace the soft skin that was there. “I think I can manage,” he replied, kissing her again.

“Good,” Bridget said, taking a step back. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re finished. I have  _ Black Mirror _ queued up on Netflix.” She gave him a grin before leaving the room.

As quickly as he could, Mark pulled on a pair of pajamas pants, an undershirt, and one of his oldest, softest jumpers before making his way downstairs. He grimaced with each step he took. Once in the entryway, he padded across the tile to find Bridget already curled up on the couch, two steaming mugs of cocoa on the coffee table, and a bag of frozen peas sitting next to the mugs.

“Peas?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“For your ankle,” Bridget replied. She placed a pillow in her lap and patted it. “C’mere,” she said sweetly. Mark smiled and slowly lowered himself onto the couch. He swung his body around to lay his head in Bridget’s lap, which allowed Bridget the perfect angle to cup his chin and the top of his head before swooping down to pepper his face with kisses.

“Bridget,” he said with gruff amusement. “Stop.”

“You love it,” she replied, placing one last kiss on the tip of his nose. Mark hummed in approval before leaning up to snag her mouth with his. 

“Maybe I do,” he replied, mischief in his voice. 

Bridget laughed and said, “Put those peas on your ankle. It’ll help.”

With a groan, Mark leaned over and grabbed the frozen bag off of the coffee table. His foot was propped up on the arm of the couch, and he sat up to place the bag over the gauze that Bridget had wrapped around his foot. At first the contact made him suck air through his teeth, but he was surprised to find that it was rather soothing once the initial sharpness of the pain subsided. He leaned back into Bridget’s lap with a sigh, and Bridget tugged the afghan on the back of the couch over his body. 

“There we are. All snuggly and warm,” she whispered. Mark smiled up at her before closing his eyes. Absentmindedly, Bridget carded her nails through Mark’s hair as Netflix played on the television. Ironically, this was exactly where Mark wanted to be, despite his protests this morning. He could care less about what was going on at the office now that he was settled on the couch with Bridget, and he even let himself drift off as he enjoyed the blissful sensation of Bridget’s hands running through his hair.

Mark wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he was awoken by a sharp laugh above his head. 

“What’sa matter?” he murmured, sleep blurring the edges of his vision. He could see Bridget’s phone in her hand, the weight of her other hand on his chest. 

“You’re going to get upset if I tell you,” she responded, still gaping at whatever was playing on her phone.

Mark pushed himself up to prop himself up on an elbow. “Tell me,” he said, trying to snag a glance at what she was laughing at. 

“Sure you won’t get upset?” she said through giggles.

Mark nodded, and Bridget turned her phone around.

It seemed that the young boy with the cellphone had taken it upon himself to upload the video of Mark falling onto YouTube. To add insult to injury, the boy had also edited the video with obnoxious filters and a dubstep soundtrack. Some parts played backwards and forwards, Mark’s pride in perpetual shambles as he fell and got back up, only to fall back down again. His arms flailed out at his sides in comedic, rubberized motions, and his legs looked like a cartoon character’s. The title of the video was, “OLD DUDE TAKES A SPILL”.

“For God’s sake,” he muttered, taking the phone out of Bridget’s hands. “Where did you find this?”

Bridget was trying extremely hard to suppress the laugh bubbling up in her throat. “Magda sent it to me. Apparently one of her kids is friends with this Andrew, and when they found it, they asked Magda if you were the old dude.”

“Bloody hell,” Mark said, clicking the phone off to avoid any further embarrassment. “As if it isn’t bad enough.” 

Bridget took the phone from Mark’s hands with a chuckle and kissed him. 

“Go back to sleep, darling,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do about it. You’re the old dude, and you took a spill. For all we know, you’ll become an internet sensation.”

Mark glared up at her, and Bridget leaned down to kiss the furrow in his brow away. 

“Look at the bright side. Instead of sitting in your office all day, you’re here with me, snuggled up on the couch with cocoa...that has Bailey’s in it. You could be a lot worse off.”

Looking up at her, Mark gave her one of his infamous dimpled smirks. “You never said there was Bailey’s,” he said with amusement. 

Bridget looked at him with a surprised expression. “Of course there’s Bailey’s. What do I look like, an amateur?”

Mark laughed as he sat up. “In that case, I must go nuke these so we can enjoy them. If I had known there was Bailey’s in them, I would’ve drank mine before watching that video.”

Bridget laughed. “Are you sure you can handle carrying those two mugs into the kitchen on your own?” she said with bemusement in her voice. 

“Of course I can.” 

Mark hobbled into the kitchen, carrying the two mugs in his hands and feeling very,  _ very _ thankful to be spending his life with someone who could make him laugh at even the most cringeworthy moments of his existence. Very thankful, indeed.


End file.
